


that would be enough

by Slumber, tauontauoff



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tauontauoff/pseuds/tauontauoff
Summary: “Hey, Kuroo,” Bokuto says, nuzzling Kuroo by the collar and wishing, not for the first time and not for the last, he could inhale a scent stronger than soap and cologne. The thought is fleeting, superseded very quickly by Kuroo’s lips on him, and his hands, and his deft fingers, and everything else.“Yeah?”“You know we mate for life, right?”In which Bokuto is a werewolf and Kuroo is a vampire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Bokuroo Week Day 1: Supernatural](https://bokurooweek.tumblr.com)

Bokuto is five years old the first time he meets Kuroo. 

He isn’t supposed to; he wasn’t allowed to go as deep in the woods as he did, nor to enter the private property up the hill in the middle of it. But Konoha said he was too small to do it, too young, too weak, and so Bokuto puffed up his chest and stuck out his tongue, and made a run for it. He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, as far as he can go, until he can’t hear Konoha shrieking behind him anymore, until the trees are gone and so is the sun and the sprawling lawn he’s on is covered in a creepy fog and the mansion ahead looms, imposing and sinister, above him.

He is five years old when he realizes there is probably a reason his parents told him not to do the things he just did.

“Ohoho,” someone says behind him, and when Bokuto turns there’s a man taller than the house (it seemed), with a long face and spindly arms that were crossed against each other. He pushes himself off the tree he’s leaning against and cocks his head at Bokuto. When he smiles there’s a flash of sharp teeth—just the one fang, unlike the mouthful Bokuto’s brothers get. Everything Bokuto has been raised to do is telling him to run, to run fast and to run now, but then the man speaks and something in his voice makes Bokuto stay.

“Lost, little pup?”

* * *

Bokuto is ten when he sees Kuroo again. He’s at the graveyard behind the church the night after he first Turned, shaking off the previous evening as he rolls around the crunchy autumn leaves, stretching his limbs and cracking his joints until they feel like they’ve popped back into the right places. The old places. 

He feels the approach before he hears the greeting. “Try to keep it down next time,” Kuroo says behind him, laughing when Bokuto leaps to his haunches, baring his teeth in a feral growl. “Guess it takes a while to _were_ off, huh?”

Bokuto blinks. “You look the same,” he says, stupidly, but his brothers said that it would also take a while before he starts thinking fully human again. 

“Do I?” Kuroo asks. He’s still tall, much taller than Bokuto, who grows sideways as well as upwards, but the dramatic part and tousle of his hair remain the same, the paleness of his skin, the mischief he flashes in his smile. “Could’ve sworn I wore a different shirt, last time.”

“Why are you here?” Bokuto asks, because since that time five years ago he wasn’t supposed to be where _they_ were, anymore, and maybe there was a standing thing about the graveyard he’d forgotten about, or something, and he doesn’t want to get into trouble but—

“The good old Mrs. Barney was buried today,” Kuroo says, nodding at the plot of land not far from Bokuto’s pile of leaves. “Needed a snack.”

Bokuto makes a face. “Isn’t that gross?”

“It’ll do in a pinch, and it’s easier than hunting.” Kuroo shrugs. “Last night was— a staying in sort of evening.”

“Oh, I—”

“Please, take your time.” Kuroo grins. “I’d always wondered what the sound of rearranging bones was like.”

* * *

By the time Bokuto is sixteen, he and Kuroo have run into each other often enough that they’ve cleared out an old tomb in the graveyard and brought in a ratty old blanket (Bokuto’s) and a couple of flimsy pillows (Kuroo’s) to sit on.

“For your poor bones,” Kuroo teases, tossing them at Bokuto, who would be offended if he hadn’t _just_ spent the previous evening grumbling about how he’s still not used to Turning. 

“Thanks,” he mutters instead, clutching the pillows and lifting them to his nose. He sniffs with some caution. “How come you don’t smell of… anything?”

“The undead don’t smell,” Kuroo says. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” Bokuto frowns. There isn’t. But he’s used to things smelling of _something_ , that’s all. Even before he could Turn he could smell, but with Kuroo there was just… 

“Have you ever even _washed_ this?” Kuroo asks, wrinkling his nose at the blanket.

“Sometimes,” Bokuto says.

“Gross.”

But despite the complaint, Kuroo does not move from his spot.

* * *

Bokuto is nineteen when he kisses Kuroo for the first time. 

He cuts Kuroo off in the middle of a rant, the kind that is absolutely about nothing of grave importance (relatively speaking, given both their natures) except in the way it makes Kuroo’s eyes go wide and his lips twitch _just so_ , and thus makes Bokuto’s chest feel impossibly warm, and full, tugging the corners of his lips up in a goofy smile that’ll stay on for the rest of the day. 

“Took you long enough,” Kuroo mutters, blinking, long fingers moving up to touch his lips. “Oh my god, you are a _fifth_ of my age!” 

Bokuto snorts. “Y’don’t act like any hundred-year-old I know,” he says, his gaze darting back down to Kuroo’s lips. He’d pressed forward, bracketed Kuroo’s narrow frame with his broader one, both palms flat on the threadbare blanket they’ve sat on, his thumbs less than an inch from Kuroo’s hips. He doesn’t hear the jackrabbit beating of a pulse, doesn’t smell the spike of rushing blood in the air. Barely feels the puff of a breath against his lips, just like he knew, on a certain level, and didn’t _really_ know until it was here and he’d unfelt it all. It’s strange and slightly unnerving, but it’s Kuroo, whose lips part slightly and who meets his gaze with just a sliver of uncertainty, and that’s what makes Bokuto ask: “Can I do that again?”

* * *

He starts looking older than Kuroo when he turns twenty-five, though Kuroo never quite tells him when his Turning had been. Younger than twenty-five, Bokuto thinks. Maybe younger than twenty.

“Who’s the cradle-robber now?” he asks, laughing against Kuroo’s neck, the edges of his teeth running light against alabaster skin, but never quite so much as biting down. Bokuto would never. (Would Kuroo? Maybe he’ll ask.)

“That’s— that’s not how it works.”

Of course it isn’t. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to work. There’s a coven hiding in the hills and a pack guised as a large, extended family of farmers in the town, and a tremulous, uneasy sort of truce between them reinforced primarily by keeping their distance and keeping to themselves.

And here they are in the cemetery by the church anyway.

“Hey, Kuroo,” Bokuto says, nuzzling Kuroo by the collar and wishing, not for the first time and not for the last, he could inhale a scent stronger than soap and cologne. The thought is fleeting, superseded very quickly by Kuroo’s lips on him, and his hands, and his deft fingers, and everything else.

“Yeah?”

“You know we mate for life, right?”

Kuroo snorts, shoving him back half-heartedly. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, but doesn’t shove again when Bokuto crawls back over him, doesn’t roll his eyes when Bokuto leans down to close the distance between them, doesn’t call him ridiculous anymore when Bokuto presses closer and clings to him, because Kuroo clings back just as hard.

Bokuto wonders if Kuroo knows he wasn’t joking.

* * *

They run away when Bokuto turns thirty.

They do it the day after a full moon, when the pack is in recovery and the coven is starving—Akaashi had pointed out that meant Bokuto would be in recovery and Kuroo would be starving too, so they make sure there’s blood hidden in the tomb and a plan that involves not a whole lot of movement. 

No one recognizes them when they board the train, thanks to the clothes Kenma gave them. They find a private car and Bokuto curls up on Kuroo’s lap there, letting bones pop back into sore joints and pressing fingerpads against tender bruises. Kuroo’s fingers are a balm through his hair, soothing against his scalp. The last stop is eight hours away, and after that— 

“Bokuto.” 

“Mm?”

“We’re really doing this?”

“We’re really doing this.”

* * *

And they do. The first town they find is not a town at all but a large city, with more brick buildings compressed in a square mile than should be reasonable, but it teems with life and cloaks them with the anonymity of being two in a million, but the days fill with noise and the nights with competition, and eventually it is time to leave.

They head to the mountains next, in a sparsely populated town nestled between valleys and surrounded by fertile lands and prime hunting ground, but they stay too many years too long to remain as young as Kuroo looks.

There is a small village somewhere so far north the sun rarely pays a visit, so Kuroo is awake more often than he’s asleep and the temperature never gets too low that Bokuto can’t keep them both warm, but it’s too arid for anyone or anything else.

They move to another town due south, then another further west, ‘til they reach a city slightly smaller than the last, bustling with activity but at a less harried pace than before. There are alleys between the buildings and sometimes blocks dedicated to gardens, quiet cafes and libraries next to busy streets, pauses for breath in the middle of movement. 

“Let’s stay here,” Bokuto says, glancing up at Kuroo. He’s never caught up to Kuroo’s height but his shoulders are twice as broad now and his face grows rough with the beginnings of a persistent beard at the end of every day. 

By this time Bokuto has lived seventy-five years though the crinkling of crows’ feet around the corners of his eyes when he laughs belong to a middle-aged man, as Kuroo will point out with a mix of wonder and confusion, like aging slowly is an impossible concept for someone who ages never at all. 

Kuroo slides his slender hand in Bokuto’s much larger palm, fingers twining next to Bokuto’s. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s.” 

They’ve seen enough to know what home looks like.

* * *

It is less than three years later when Bokuto returns home after the full moon with a gash in his side— it is not a shallow cut, stemmed only lightly by the shirt he’d tightly wound around it— and a sheepish look on his face before he falls to his knees and Kuroo rushes to him.

“Not as spry as I used to be,” he mourns with a huff of laughter, wincing at the touch and feeling quite faint in the head. 

It’s not the first time his meal has tried to fight back— it’s not even the first time his meal has almost succeeded. But the wound stays open longer than before, and Bokuto stays in bed a few extra days when he develops a fever from infection, and though eventually he gets better he doesn’t miss the way Kuroo’s face darkens as the full moon approaches, nor how he braces himself before they part. 

They’ve always carried age differently from humanity. It’s strange to realize they’re starting to reach the point where they can see how differently they carry it from each other, too.

* * *

Bokuto is nearing a hundred years old and there is a ripening possibility lingering in the air between them, seeded by nights when Bokuto becomes so feral he can find no more than a few small rodents to feed on and Kuroo in turn hunts for them both, and by the days that follow when Bokuto’s recovery feels more brutal on his bones than they have in a long, long time. 

He waits for Kuroo, but in the end it is Bokuto who plucks the thought out from both of their heads— 

“I don’t want to return to the pack.” 

— and squashes it into the ground.

Kuroo’s face lights up with relief. “Okay,” he says. “I didn’t want you to.”

It’s selfish, maybe for both of them. They have had longer than anyone.

(It still doesn’t feel like it’s long enough.)

* * *

Kuroo is almost a quarter of a millennia old when Bokuto turns to him one quiet evening, half his face in shadow, the other half cast in the flickering sepia glow of candlelight. So many years mark their time on him, creasing his forehead and cheeks and dragging down what was once a strong chin, wrinkling around what remains the kindest eyes Kuroo has ever seen. 

“Hey, Kuroo.” His voice is whisper-soft, a quiet breath, but the yellow gaze sparkles with youthful light. (Kuroo loves that about him most.)

“Mm?”

“Told ya we mated for life.”


	2. Epilogue

Kuroo doesn’t count the years, but it’s a long time before he goes back. The places are familiar but different, even though they’ve changed slower than the rest of the world, just like the people that live there.

The church remains. And the graveyard, though there are fewer new graves, now. How the town has stayed the same instead of growing to bursting like the rest of everything tells him that the only ones remaining are the ones who go bump in the night.

He hides from the sun in one of the old crypts still standing, listening, to the wind in the trees and the insects in the ground and silence, silence, silence.

He’s ready when it stops.

The horizon isn’t cold yet, and it burns his eyes and face to go but that’s nowhere near enough to dissuade him.

He stands in shadow, unseen, unscented, as the sound of four strong, young hearts beating faster and faster comes near.

The pups had always had a weakness for dares, and it seemed they still did.

One of them, the smallest, whose heart was beating the wildest, was puffing his chest out and walking with familiar stomps further into the graveyard, looked on worriedly by a larger one with silver streaks in her hair.

They never saw him, he made sure of that. He’d be to them what they were to him, just an echo, something always lingering, always out of reach.

That would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love! ♥
> 
> [Slumber](https://twitter.com/slumberish) and [tau](https://twitter.com/tauontauoff) are on twitter if you wanna say hi!


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